Текст книги "Crush "
Автор книги: Kim Karr
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Crush
Copyright © 2015 by Kim Karr
All rights reserved.
ISBN 978–0-9889419–4-6
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Editor:
Mary-Theresa Hussey, Good Stories Told Well
Interior Design and Formatting:
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
Cover designer:
Hang Le, By Hang Le
Cover model:
Cyril Mourali
Photographer:
Brice Hardelin, Brice Hardelin Photography
CRUSH
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Author Note
Other Books by Kim Karr
About the Author
Toxic Excerpt
Connected Excerpt
DAY 8 CONTINUED
LOGAN MCPHERSON
Say you wanted someone eliminated . . .
Killed.
It doesn’t matter who—your mother, your lover, your enemy.
There are guys out there who will do it for you.
It’s a fact.
Not someone from the Mob.
Not someone connected to the Mob.
Not anyone you know.
A hit man.
I’ve heard of ways to contact one. Someone who knows someone who knows someone.
Someone from the old neighborhood. Someone with prison tats. Someone with long hair. Someone with no hair. Who the fuck cares—he could look like Mötley Crüe. Hell, on the other hand, he could be a businessman wearing a two-thousand-dollar suit.
I really don’t give a shit.
What he looks like is irrelevant. It’s what he does that matters.
Sure, there’s a steep monetary price attached to the deed. That’s not what worries me.
I’d give every cent I had if it meant she’d be safe.
It’s what it would really cost me—how big of a piece of my soul it would take—that keeps me from making that call.
I re-read the note, “That E wasn’t meant for Emily.”
One thing was clear . . .
He knows about Elle and me.
Tommy Flannigan, my enemy, my foe, the Mob boss’s son, the one I have been forbidden to make contact with, knows I have someone in my life that I care about. He might even know I love her. And she’s not his sister. She’s not Emily. Because I defied him, because I dared to move on, I know he’ll taunt me, try to break me, try to drive me out of my mind.
For over a decade he’s loomed over me.
Like a shadow.
A black spot in my life that I always knew was there.
In the past he’d threatened me, mutilated a girl I’d dated, scarred me, but that was a long time ago. I hadn’t heard from in years, until just last week when he harmed someone he thought was Elle.
He was back in my life.
Everyone knew he was into drugs as a user, but not many knew he was a cutthroat player in the drug world; not even his old man knew to what extent he was involved. The thing was he was always crazy, but lately he’d been breaking all the rules. Homes. Women. Mothers. Children. Nothing and no one was safe from him anymore—it was like he had nothing left to lose.
With that, breaking the treaty forged years ago when it came to contacting me wasn’t a surprise.
I think I’d been waiting for him to cross that line for a very long time.
The thing he doesn’t get is I’m no longer fearful. That I’ll do the very same thing. As of right this minute, as far as I’m concerned, the rules of the street no longer apply to me. There is too much at stake for me to care about what could happen if I went up against the Blue Hill Gang. I have to think about what has to happen in order to keep Elle safe. And that’s one thing, and one thing only.
Tommy’s threat has to be eliminated.
Somehow.
Some way.
But murder for hire would have to wait.
Paralyzed.
Frozen in place.
I looked over into Elle’s green eyes.
Wide.
Scared.
Still beautiful.
I haven’t even known her for two weeks but she’s a part of me. I can’t—no, I won’t—let anything happen to her.
“Logan,” she whispered quietly.
Escaping from my thoughts, I wanted to say something. Something profound. Something that would make sense. Something that would make everything okay. But there was nothing.
Without hesitation I searched her face. As soon as I did, I saw the once glimmering green in her eyes was now dull, her skin pale, and her lips quivering.
The sight made my chest tighten.
But it was when I saw the apprehension in her body language, the hairs on her arm rise, the unsteady rise and fall of her breathing—the fear she didn’t want me to see, the fear she was trying to hide from me—that I knew what I had to do.
I had to find him.
Now.
I was going to settle the score with Tommy Flannigan once and for all.
Whatever the outcome.
The note crumpled in my fist and I let it drop to the floor. Tugging my shirt on, I once again looked over at her. “Stay here, lock the door, and don’t let anyone in. I mean it, not anyone except me. I don’t care who they say they are.”
“Where are you going?” Fear laced her voice.
“To find Tommy.”
“But the news, they said members of the Flannigan family had been arrested. Maybe he’s already in custody.”
I looked at the note on the floor. I had a gut feeling he wasn’t. This wasn’t something he’d send someone else to do. This was something he’d take too much pleasure in doing himself. “Maybe he is,” I said to help calm her nerves, “but someone arranged to deliver that note to this room, and I’m going to find out who it was.”
“Logan, no.” She reached for me as I slid my feet into my shoes.
I had to shrug away from her.
I had to do this.
On my way to the door, I stopped for just a single moment to look at her. In that moment there was nothing more I wanted than to feel her arms around me, press my body to hers, look into her eyes and tell her we were going to be just fine.
But that would be a lie.
And I wasn’t going to lie to her.
Not about this.
“Logan,” she pleaded.
I heard the pain in her voice and my heart stopped. Still, I kept moving. I had to do this—for her. For me. For us. The door closed behind me and the sound of the latch told me she’d be safe—until I returned or . . .
My despair was immediately replaced with rage as my eyes fell on the white jacket of the guy who had delivered the note. He was standing in the hallway with his back to me. Unable to control myself, I rushed for him, but came to an abrupt stop when I got a little closer. He wasn’t alone. He was kissing a girl, also in uniform. I waited. She giggled, smiled, and finally gave him a wave before she walked down the hall. As soon as he entered the waiting elevator, it started to close, and I darted for it.
My hands jammed between the panels and the doors flew open.
There he stood.
Lipstick on his lips.
Smiling.
Like he didn’t have a care in the fucking world.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
I lunged for him.
Had his lipstick-stained collar in my hands so fast, I could barely see the fear in his eyes. “Who put that note on the food cart?” I hissed.
He was shaking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
With a tug, my grip tightened. “I’m not going to ask you twice, who put the note on the food cart?”
There was a dripping sound on the elevator floor. I think he pissed his pants. “Some dude paid me fifty bucks to slip it onto your tray. He said it was a joke between you and him.”
I slammed him against the wall. “What did he look like?”
Mumbling, words barely cohesive, he answered, “Short, brown hair, piercings, and he had a limp.”
Tommy.
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is he?” I asked again through gritted teeth.
The guy was crying. “I don’t know.”
I loosened my grip. “Where did you leave him?”
He crumbled against the wall. “Outside the kitchen door.”
I hit the service level. “Scan your card. Show me.”
Shaking, he nodded. “Look, mister, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. He said it was a joke. I believed him.”
My body went rigid.
A joke!
When I slipped my hand in my pocket, he raised his palms. “Don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Ignoring him, I pulled out my wallet and handed him a fifty. “Just show me where you saw him last. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Visibly relaxing, he scanned his card and the elevator glided down toward the service level.
Within minutes we were just outside the kitchen.
With a shaky finger he pointed. “He was standing right there when he approached me but once he gave me the note, he headed for the stairs.”
“Where do they lead?”
“To the lobby.”
I gave him a nod. “Thanks, man. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
His laugh was more like a cry. “Na, I wasn’t really worried,” he said.
Now that was a lie.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I pushed open the door and hit the service hallway. Once inside the Mandarin lobby, I scanned it and then swept the lounge. Nothing. No sign of him. I searched the bar. The restrooms. The offices. Nothing. I climbed the grand staircase and then combed the exterior of the building. Nothing. He was nowhere in sight.
That didn’t mean shit.
ELLE STERLING
Emotion rushed through me.
I wasn’t going to cry.
My clothes were scattered and I busied myself dressing.
Seconds passed.
Minutes passed.
Pacing, counting steps, back and forth from the door to the window, I wore a path onto the carpet.
Finally, I couldn’t take the monotony and flopped on the bed. Unsure of what to do, my thoughts started to wander.
My defense mechanisms weakened with each additional tick of the clock and soon I found myself swallowing against the knot that was lodged in my throat, but I could do nothing about the sting of tears behind my closed eyes.
Logan and I had come so far, so fast.
Neither of us had expected to meet in my brother-in-law’s law office just a week ago. Neither had expected to run into each other at Molly’s Pub later that night. And certainly neither of us meant to have this intense connection.
It was all so surreal.
Somehow we’d become entangled in a drug war brewing amid the Boston Irish Mob, and we weren’t the only ones.
There was my missing sister. I had no idea how innocent or guilty she actually was. Then there was Logan’s father, who had been skirting the edges of the law with the Blue Hill Gang for years. There was also Michael, my brother-in-law, who was acting suspiciously. On top of all of that, Logan was working undercover with the DEA but also trying to protect me from everyone.
And me? I just wanted to keep my niece, Clementine, safe. And if things went well, have Logan be a part of my life.
The odds were against us.
Was this a sign? Was everything that was falling apart around us fate telling me I should have known better than to think we could belong to each other?
I refused to let my thoughts go down that road.
Logan was different.
This was going to work out.
Pushing my issues and insecurities aside, I had to believe that we were going to make it. That Logan would be strong enough to fight his demons. That Logan was going to get through this and that I would be by his side to help him.
After all, it was just a note.
Words on a paper meant to scare him.
Meaningless—or so I hoped.
I was certain that after the initial shock, Logan would see it that way too.
I had to believe that. I just did.
Anyway, by all accounts, if the news was correct, Tommy was in jail and no longer a threat to us. To me. To Logan.
I pressed my lips together, keenly aware of the passage of time.
My attention went to the TV where Channel 7 news was still on. They were replaying the arrest. I turned the volume up. This time names were flashing across the bottom of the screen.
“More breaking news,” the TV correspondent announced. “Members of the powerful Flannigan crime family are among at least twenty-four people arrested tonight in a major drug raid. Details are sketchy, but a confirmed two million dollars in cocaine has been seized. Among those arrested tonight, the alleged head of the Irish Blue Hill Gang, Patrick Flannigan. Sources acknowledge some high-ranking members are still at large, but all efforts are being made to bring them in. If you have seen any of these men, call our hotline.”
I crossed my arms, fighting off the chill that had seeped into my bones. There, before my eyes, was a picture of Tommy Flannigan. I hadn’t known what he looked like before now, but I knew I’d never forget it. Those cold, brown eyes, the lifeless look on his face, the evil that was written all over him.
Knock. Knock.
I jumped, startled out of my own skin.
My heart started to race.
My pulse thundered.
Fear began to set in.
It wasn’t like me to be afraid.
I was strong.
I was resilient.
I’d been through a lot in my life and I’d come out on the other side.
Hardened.
Determined.
Immune.
What had changed?
“Elle, it’s me, open up.” His voice was husky, commanding.
Relief washed through me. “Logan!” I rushed to the door and threw it open.
In a flash, he was inside. Tall, hard, and imposing, the more-than-competent man locked the door behind him. As soon as he did, his eyes moved over me like he wasn’t certain I was really standing here before him, alive, unharmed, in one piece.
With a determined step, I wanted to reassure him, so I pressed myself against him and stroked my fingers through his beautiful hair. It was rumpled and sticking up everywhere and still, he was breathtaking. “Did you find him?”
He let out a long sigh. “No, not yet.”
The words not yet made me shiver. I pushed my fingers through his hair again. “His picture is on TV. They said he hasn’t been picked up.”
Logan’s eyes closed as if in pain and then he leaned in and let his forehead rest against mine. “Get your things together. We have to go.”
Pausing, I breathed him in—my friend, my lover, the man I loved. I didn’t argue. I knew we had to leave. I just wished we didn’t have to. “Give me a minute.”
He nodded.
In the bathroom, my reflection confronted me. My hair was a mess. My eyes were red. My face blotchy. My clothes in disarray. Could Logan see that I was scared?
I hoped not.
With a deep breath, I shook off my own fear.
It was just a note.
It didn’t mean anything.
What really frightened me wasn’t what might happen to me, but what might happen to him.
I heard his voice. He was on the phone. “Fuck you. You said you’d get him, you reassured me that he, of all people, would be brought in.”
Silence.
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going to find him.”
Silence again.
“I can’t guarantee that.”
There was a crash, a thud.
Then silence.
More silence.
I waited to open the door.
He was going to go after Tommy, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.
I was scared. I was scared for him. Sure, he was competent, strong, capable, and dauntless even, but Tommy was a part of the Mob, and the Mob wasn’t just one person, not just one set of eyes, or hands, or legs, or barrels of guns ready to hunt him down—it was dozens, potentially hundreds.
When I finally opened the door, Logan was composed and dressed in the same clothes he’d arrived in only hours ago. But it seemed like a lifetime ago.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked.
He rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows as he spoke. “Agent Blanchet of the DEA.”
Ironically, knowing he was working with the DEA helped soothe my nerves. “What did she say?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They don’t know where Tommy is. Come on, we have to go.”
“Where are we going?”
He indicated I should walk toward him. “I’m going to take you to my father’s house. Right now it’s the safest place.”
“Isn’t he Patrick’s counsel?”
“Yeah, but Patrick has a half-dozen attorneys. My father isn’t one he’d use to get him out of jail. Besides, I can’t imagine he’ll even be given bail. He’s too much of a flight risk.”
My steps were slow. “And what about you?”
With an extended hand, he urged me to move faster. “I’m going to find Tommy.”
Hearing him say it again didn’t make the blow any easier. I stopped. “Logan, please don’t do this. The police are looking for him. Let them find him.”
His headshake was determined. “They’ll never find him. He might not be very bright, but he’s not stupid.”
My fingertips reached for him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
There, I said it.
He took my hand and tugged me toward him. He didn’t say anything to me. Didn’t give me false hope. Instead, he kissed me like I was his world. I could feel him, I could taste him, I was him. His hands clutched my face tightly as his lips moved against mine. My hands rested on his chest but then moved up to wrap around his neck. I needed to be closer. He did too. He pulled me even tighter to him and started grabbing fistfuls of my hair. In that moment, he held me as if it were the last time we’d be like this. I wanted to fight for control with him, tell him not to kiss me like this, but our lips and our bodies were moving in such perfect sync, I couldn’t. It was as if our minds were branding this feeling into our souls and I didn’t want the moment to end until the full image was captured.
When he pulled back, I looked at him. I wanted to beg him to stay with me. Not to go out into the night alone. Yet, I knew there was no arguing with him. He was determined to protect me no matter the cost. Besides, he had already made up his mind, and the way he was staring at me told me what I already feared—if he didn’t succeed in finding and stopping Tommy, he was going to leave me in order to save me.
And crush my heart.
DAY 9
LOGAN
Relying on others for help felt strange.
I’d been on my own, forging my own way, and dealing with my own shit for so long, asking for assistance didn’t seem right.
Yet, I didn’t have a choice.
I couldn’t be in two places at once, and Elle’s safety was at stake.
The ride to my old man’s was quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts. When we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the ignition and looked at her. I knew she was upset. “Talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Whatever you have to,” I said. “Whatever you need to. Just get it out.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t want you to go after Tommy.”
Trying to comfort her, I reached for her hand. “I have to. Don’t you see? If not I’ll go insane constantly looking behind my back, wondering what’s lurking around every corner, waiting for what’s next.”
She pulled her hand away. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”
“Elle,” I sighed.
Her eyes met mine. “Logan, I’m tired. And I’m worried . . . for you. For Clementine. For Michael. And for me. I just want this to be over.”
I nodded. “So do I.”
She turned her head and her eyes were hidden from me, but I had already seen the tears that were glimmering in them, and it killed me.
“Let’s get inside.” There really wasn’t anything more to say. She’d said it all. The truth was . . . I was worried too.
It was almost two in the morning and the house was lit up like a Christmas tree.
I’d called my father as soon as I left the hotel room and given him a very watered-down version of what had happened. Then I’d called Declan Mulligan, a guy from my past who I hadn’t expected to be a friend, and Miles Murphy, who wasn’t ex-military like I thought but ex-BPD, who’d worked in the gang crimes division for years until he was shot in the line of duty sometime last year and subsequently decided to retire. I filled them in and asked for their help. Miles had agreed to call some of his ex-cop friends to come over to my old man’s tonight to look out for Elle. He was coming to keep guard as well, and then if it came to it, he’d help take her home in the morning and get her house and business wired securely. Declan was showing up as well, but not to keep watch; he had the best intel on Tommy.
“Wait for me to come around,” I told her and then got out. As soon as I did, the kitchen door flung open. My old man stood there, gun at his side, eyes shifting in the night. I gave him a nod and rushed over to Elle’s side. I tried not to show her the fear that was flowing through my veins.
With my hand on the small of her back, I guided her toward what used to be my gramps’s house and was now my old man’s. She fidgeted. Her fingers combed through her hair and she smoothed it. It was then that I realized she hadn’t formally met my father yet. The run-in at O’Shea’s law office, more than a week ago, wasn’t the impression I wanted her to have of him.
My old man stood stoic as we hurried through the door. His eyes met mine when I passed him and I could see the disapproval in them over the deal I’d made with the DEA, but he said nothing. Instead he followed us in and secured the door behind him. Once he slid his gun inside his waistband, he surveyed us. The creases around his eyes and lines on his face told me he was worried too.
We were all standing in my gramps’s kitchen and the ghosts couldn’t have had any larger of a presence. With lingering visions of blood everywhere, I closed my eyes and had to forcibly suppress the memories of the night Tommy attacked me and my then somewhat-girlfriend Kayla in here.
“Logan,” my father said quietly as if he knew what I was envisioning.
The sound of his voice made me blink out of the horrific flashback.
Focusing on Elle, I knew it was time to break the ice and do the formal introductions, as awkward as they seemed in a situation like this. “Pop, this is Elle Sterling. Elle, this is my father, Sean McPherson.”
She held her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Mr. McPherson.”
To my surprise, Sean McPherson, attorney-at-law, admitted alcoholic, my part-time boss and my old man, stepped forward and hugged her. “Call me Sean.”
The embrace wasn’t long, but it was enough that I could see the look of relief on her face. Had she been worried about meeting him?
“Coffee?” my old man asked, stepping back.
“No, thank you,” Elle replied.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a cup, if you want to make a pot. I’m going to take Elle up to my room. She’s tired.”
My father nodded and then started for the sink.
“This way.” I took Elle’s hand and her bag and we headed toward the family room, and then up the stairs to the room I was staying in.
Once we were in there, Elle looked anywhere but at me.
My shit was everywhere. I’d only been here a few days since moving out of the Four Seasons and hadn’t bothered to unpack anything. I was living out of duffle bags. I reached inside one and pulled out a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt. “You’ll be safe here. No one but Tommy would ever come to Killian McPherson’s house. And with Miles, his crew, and my father on guard, he’ll never make it past the threshold even if he tries.”
“I know you wouldn’t take me anywhere that wasn’t safe,” she whispered. I could tell she was scared. I hated that she was.
Wanting to get out on the street as fast as I could, I quickly stripped out of my dress clothes and changed.
Elle walked over to the bureau and picked up the picture that was sitting on it. “Is this you?”
“Yeah, I was around four, and that’s my grandmother and grandfather.”
“I can see the resemblance.”
Dressed, I sat on the bed and put my sneakers on. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Ask my old man for anything you need.”
She nodded but didn’t turn around. She just kept staring at the picture.
“Elle, I have to go,” I said, standing and grabbing my hat. As I headed for the door I wanted to go over to her, put my arms around her, and kiss her, but it didn’t feel right. Not right now. Not when she was in danger. Not when everything was so fucked up.
Her voice caught me just before I hit the hallway. “Be careful,” she said quietly.
I waited a moment, to see if she’d turn around.
She didn’t.
Better that way.
Quickly, I closed the door and my mind to the struggle I was feeling between my head and my heart. I’d told her we were in this together, but that was before. Before the note. Before the one thing I wasn’t sure I could wrap my head around—Tommy hurting Elle. That’s why I had to focus on removing the threat; everything else would have to wait.
Downstairs, Declan and Miles had already arrived. They were sitting at the kitchen table with my old man. They all looked at me solemnly when I entered the room.
“Is she all set?” my father asked.
I nodded and headed to the coffeepot to pour a cup.
“Who else knows what you did besides Frank and Elle?” He asked this as he walked to the kitchen door. Frank lived next door, but his house was completely dark. He must have been asleep. I doubted he knew anything about the takedown—yet.
“No one, and Frank doesn’t really know anything. Only that I needed some empty liquor boxes. But I’m sure when he sees the news, he’ll figure it out.”
My old man turned around and his eyes were filled with pain. “I’ve done everything I could to keep you out of this life, Logan, to protect you from the darkness it brings,” he started.
I set my cup down and held up my hands. “Not now, okay? Not now.”
He dropped his head and ran his hands through his hair. I knew what this was doing to him and I hated it.
Focus. I had to focus on what I had to do. There was no space for feelings in this room, or in this house, or in my life right now for that matter.
“Come on, Declan, let’s go,” I said, striding toward the door.
He rose but stayed where he was, peering at both Miles and my father.
I kept moving.
I could hear the guys’ voices as I walked out of the kitchen door and into the cool night. They were still talking as I stepped onto the driveway but now I stopped listening. I didn’t need to hear what they had to say.
Minutes later, Declan hopped in the Rover and pulled out his phone. “I asked around. The only place Tommy has been seen lately besides Lucy’s is down at the docks in Southie.”
“Then that’s where we’ll start.“ I pulled out of the driveway and drove around for a bit to make sure I didn’t have a tail. I was pretty certain the last time I’d left the waterfront I was being followed, and now I was almost certain it was Agent Blanchet who had been on my tail that night. She knew way more about what I’d been doing the past week than I’d let on.
When I didn’t see anyone behind me, I headed for the Seaport District. I was going to find Tommy Flannigan if I had to turn over every square inch of the place. The motherfucker could be hiding in an abandoned warehouse like a rat for all I knew. I didn’t care. I’d flush him out. He was going to be mine—no matter where he was.
It was still dark when I took the streets one at a time, weaving through them, up and down, all the way from the channel to the river. The ice had melted in the water, but it kept its mucky winter shade. There wasn’t much activity this late and there was no sight of him. It was time to hoof it, so I parked near the Boston Fish Pier. “Where the fuck do we start?” I asked Declan.
We had less than three hours before dawn at the most and I knew if I didn’t find him tonight, I never would. It was too easy to hide in the city in the daytime. And come nightfall tomorrow, he’d be long gone. It was no use going to Lucy’s—the strip club was where the drugs had been found, and the police were swarming there.
Declan’s phone had been going off like crazy. He’d put feelers out everywhere. I couldn’t believe how well connected he was. Someone said he’d seen Tommy walking down Seaport Boulevard hours ago. We headed down that way, pulling on every warehouse door we could to see if any were loose or had recently been broken into. It was crazy, but as kids, we did this all the time. We’d come down here and wedge open the doors to the warehouses and scare the shit out of anyone who followed us inside. It was a game. I’d played it. Tommy had played it. So had Declan. Back then Southie was also a dump, though, and there were a shit-ton of abandoned buildings. Not so many anymore.
For over an hour Declan and I walked on opposite sides of the streets, up and down the docks, and through alleys. The wind was brutal and it was cold, so I’d pulled my hood up long ago. Lost in my thoughts, I kept walking, searching, pulling on doors, looking behind garbage cans, peering into smaller alleyways, checking out the homeless to see if Tommy was pretending to be one of them.
“Hey, man.”
Declan’s voice grabbed my attention and I looked across the street at him as he came jogging toward me.
“He’s at the fucking Seaport Hotel.”
My heart pounded. “No fucking way. I thought he’d checked out.”
“Miles just called. A buddy of his in security has been on the lookout and spotted him about an hour ago. Checked in under some alias, but he’s there. Room 510.”
I started moving backwards and pointed my finger at Declan. “Take the Rover and go back to my old man’s. I’ll meet you there later.”
“No way, man. You’re not going there alone.”
I shook my head, still pointing. “I don’t want you involved any further. You’ve done enough for now. Don’t follow me. Just go.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Declan, you have to leave. I can’t take the chance of you getting caught up in something dangerous.”
He stood there motionless.
“Please, man.” My voice was pleading and I think he got what I was saying. My conscience couldn’t handle it if he got marked or worse if he got killed in the crossfire.
He said nothing.
I took that as an okay and turned around and started running. The hotel wasn’t far, and it would be faster to get there on foot than heading all the way back to my vehicle anyway.
It was almost dawn by now and the early morning sky was just erupting. To everyone else I looked like I was out for a run, not on a mission to confront Tommy Flannigan and—and what? That was the question, wasn’t it? Do I sell my soul to the devil and kill the motherfucker? I decided not to go there in my mind right now. One step at a time—first I had to find him.
